


Introduction to Ink

by cagestark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky gives off some subby feels, F/M, He's really just very whipped for Toni, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mentions of past kidnapping, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oral Sex, Sheltered!Tony, female!Tony, lots of science talk, mentions of spanking, tattooed!bucky, toni is nerdy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagestark/pseuds/cagestark
Summary: Toni has seen tattoos before. Happy, her security guard for as long as she could remember, had one on his bicep of his mother’s favorite flower, so. It’s not like Toni wasn’t aware of the things or didn’t believe in their existence. She’s just never seen someone so saturated with them. It’s a stark difference from the people she grew up knowing: stiff public figures in formal clothing who denounced youth culture and considered people with tattoos degenerates.He’s everything her father warned her about when she insisted on going to public university under a different last name. He’s so raw.He’s so, so beautiful.OR: the fic where Bucky has a lot of tattoos and Toni wants to touch them.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 313





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Bucky sees her, she’s sitting on one of Nat’s tasteful patio chairs with a textbook open on her knees, bent over to try to read by the fading light. Her hair falls long and dark around her face, hands tanned with thin fingers that flick through pages of her book with purpose. All around her are various acts of debauchery: water polo in the pool with Nat shouting at someone who has spilled their cocktail in the chlorinated water; music loud enough to feel like a second pulse where it resonates in the drum of his chest; the patio table beside her littered with bottles of alcohol and mixers. All this and she looks like an island, some peaceful quiet piece of frozen time. Completely out of place. Bewitching.

A warm hand clasps him on the shoulder, startling him. It’s just Steve, hair wet but body dry when he pulls Bucky in for a quick hug. “Good to see you, brother,” Steve says warmly in his ear, and yeah. Bucky will endure the chaos for  _ this _ . It’s been too long since he’s seen Natasha and Steve and Sam and the others. So what if he has to swim through an ocean of obnoxious people to find them? 

Islands, he thinks, eyes drawn back to the girl reading the book. 

Bucky lifts his chin in her direction. “Who’s that?” 

Steve glances over. “That’s Toni. She’s Nat’s roommate at uni. I guess she was homeschooled her whole life, real sheltered. Nice girl, though. Hey, go get a drink and I’ll see if I can’t get Sam away from the beer pong table. Clint’s around here, too, I think, so keep your eyes peeled for him.” 

With careful, cautious steps, Bucky approaches the table. Toni doesn’t look up from her book, though she does flip the page. Her nails are short and tidy, free of polish. This close, Bucky sees that she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt with a high neck and a skirt that brushes her knees. She couldn’t be more different from the other girls at the party, and she might as well be the antithesis of Nat. 

Curiosity tickles at the back of his brain. _ What is she reading? _ he wonders. A glimpse at the open pages shows complex graphs and models that offer him no hint. He’s so busy trying to look at her book out of the corner of his eye that he knocks over a bottle of Jack Daniels. Like dominos, it sends a stack of plastic cups and a cup full of decorative umbrella scattering over the table. 

Cringing, he lets his eyes be drawn back to her. Toni is staring up at him, and then Bucky remembers that  _ he’s  _ not like anyone else at the party either. First he takes in her face: the wide, dark eyes, the straight nose and full mouth. Fuck, she’s young he thinks to himself, feeling like a pervert. Obviously of age if she’s sharing a room with Nat back at NYU, but he wouldn’t doubt that he’s got seven or eight years on her. He’s so busy looking his share and berating himself that he almost misses her expression, the way those big eyes grow round as moons, her mouth dropping open in a near comical expression of disbelief and perhaps disgust. 

Right, Bucky thinks distantly. He’s not the poster boy for  _ sheltered _ . 

She takes in the tattoo above his left eye, the one of his sister’s name that he’d only gotten earlier in the year on the anniversary of her death. Those dark whiskey colored eyes skirt past his face down to his neck where ink protrudes from above his collar all the way to his cut jaw. He’s grateful that he’s wearing a jacket over his t-shirt, so that she can’t see the tattoos that cover his arms. It doesn’t stop her from eyeing his hands though, the letters tattooed across his knuckles, the UFO and creeping ivy (respectively) on the back of his hands. 

It’s not the first time Bucky’s been stared at this way (like he’s a degenerate, like he’s got three heads) and it won’t be the last; though, he does wonder when it will stop stinging so much. He cuts his eyes away from her, unable to watch her watching him with that look on her face. He fixes the mess he made, restoring everything to its proper spot. Unwilling to turn tail and run—at least, not without a drink—he kneels to open a cooler beneath the table and finds twist-top beer. When he chances looking back up, there’s a complex series of microexpressions playing across Toni’s face, ones that Bucky can’t even begin to interpret. 

At his stare, she mutely lifts her book and presses it flush to her chest as if it is a shield. As if she is  _ afraid  _ of him. 

The cover reads  _ An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics. _

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters. 

Her mouth opens and then shuts. She nods, absolving him. He takes that as permission to give her a forced smile and make a prompt exit left stage. Dark eyes burn into his back as he walks aimlessly into the sea of party-goers looking for Steve or Sam or anybody.

-

Nat finds him spectating the game of beer pong (instead of pulling Sam away, Steve had somehow become roped in himself, helping Sam to dig himself out of the hole he’d been slipping into). She’s a breath of fresh air, her red hair wet and dark and plaited down the back of her head, her eyes tired and her smile easy. Bucky doesn’t even mind that she gets him wet during their hug. He’s missed her. 

They spend time catching up and heckling Steve and Sam. 

“What’s the deal with your roommate?” Bucky asks, leaning into her so that he doesn’t have to raise his voice. 

Nat narrows her eyes, seeing straight through him. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder and refuses to elaborate. Sam makes a shot and a girl on the other team has to drink, so Bucky lets his eyes rest on the stranger’s bobbing throat just so he has a place to look that isn’t into Nat’s x-ray eyes. 

At last, Nat hums. “She’s an engineering student. Her dad was some big Congressman—I guess he made some controversial moves because she said there were a lot of threats made against him and his family. They kept her home all the time to keep her safe.” Nat leans in, her mouth nearly touching his ear. “She said once when she was little, she was kidnapped for  _ ransom _ .”

“Holy shit,” Bucky mutters. 

“She’s basically been living under a rock her whole life. A very expensive, luxurious rock.”

Even at risk of saying too much and laying all his cards on the table, he says: “She looked at me like I was a freak.”

Natasha frowns, face going soft and sad. “I’m sorry, J. She’s probably just never seen someone…”

“Like me.”

“She’d be an idiot to judge you for the way you look.”

Bucky smiles a little. “Most people are idiots.”

She can’t deny that. When Steve and Sam finally crush the duo they were up against, the two losers slink away to lick their wounds and leave the end of the table free for new blood. Natasha looks up at him with a smirk. “Think you’ve still got what it takes, Barnes?”

Bucky slips his jacket off his shoulders. The only thing beneath is a white t-shirt, thin enough that the tattoos on his chest and abdomen are just visible through the fabric as dark, teasing shadows. He knows he’s pale, avoids the sun to keep his ink as fresh as possible. Leaving his jacket on a nearby chair, he says, “Only one way to find out.”

While they’re filling fresh cups with beer, his eyes are drawn to the patio chair on the porch, looking for that dark curtain of hair. Except he finds a tanned, angular face watching him, ducking back down to look at her textbook once she’s caught. 

Bucky turns his eyes away and doesn’t let himself look again. 

-

The sun sets, and the moon turns the party-goers into hellions. A fight breaks out between two frat boys over a girl and Steve has to step in to break it up and kick both of them out. Not a half hour later, three police squad cars show up after a noise complaint from one of the other neighbors in the cul de sac. The party is shut down (to Toni’s guilty delight).

She’d moved into the house once the sun had set, unable to read by the twinkling fairy lights that she’d helped Natasha to string around the yard and patio. It was much more comfortable inside among the air conditioning and the luxury. The marble countertops of the kitchen island felt familiar to her. The outdoors with the grass that itched her ankles, the bugs that never stopped shrieking or flying in her ears, and the humidity that made her shirt stick to her bare back—that would  _ never  _ be familiar to her. 

Toni had always been a homebody, willing or not. 

Seated at the kitchen island, she is so short that her feet can’t touch the floor, ankles crossed where they sway gently in the air. Flipping through her textbook without aim, she waits for everyone to be gone so that she can help Natasha pick up and then hopefully sleep in one of the tasteful guestrooms. She’s daydreaming of the comfortable bed, the clean cool sheets against her skin when she hears the sound of the patio door sliding open. 

All fantasies of cool and comfort burn up, combusted by the man who walks in.  _ The man with the tattoos. _

He towers above her even seated on the tall island chair the way she is. He’s shed the leather jacket he was wearing (and for good reason too, with the hot, humid weather). Beneath he wears simple jeans in a sinful fit with a white t-shirt that’s nearly see-through, sticking to his skin from sweat. His face is stunning: angular jaw covered in a few days’ stubble, a straight nose, eyes a stormy sea-foam with low brows that make him look intense in a way that has her legs shaking. 

His conventionality ends there. Toni has never seen a man like him in her life. Above one brow is a woman’s name in elegant cursive. His ears have holes in them large enough for her to see through. On his neck are geometric lines reminiscent of honeycombes, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He’s covered from fingertip to shirt sleeve with designs, her eyes dancing across his pale skin, never able to land for longer than a moment before something else captures her attention. 

_ He looks like a kindergarteners artwork _ , she can imagine Howard sneering.  _ Scribbles all over him. Not even worth pinning to the refrigerator. _

Toni has seen tattoos before. Happy, her security guard for as long as she could remember, had one on his bicep of his mother’s favorite flower, so. It’s not like Toni wasn’t  _ aware  _ of the things or didn’t believe in their existence. She’s just never seen someone so saturated with them. It’s a stark difference from the people she grew up knowing: stiff public figures in formal clothing who denounced youth culture and considered people with tattoos degenerates. 

He’s everything her father warned her about when she insisted on going to public university under a different last name. He’s so raw. 

He’s so, so beautiful. 

“Sorry,” he says at the sight of her, his neutral expression dropping into something stormier. 

Toni tries to smile, but judging by the way his face grimaces, it isn’t successful. She can feel the way her face begins to burn just from his sheer proximity, so she forces herself to turn back to her textbook and pretend to scan the page. 

Surely he must see through her. She feels attuned to him, hyperaware of the sound of his footsteps on the tile floor, brain working to pinpoint his exact location based on how the sounds shift. When he appears in the corner of her eye, she flinches, everything in her fighting to keep her eyes on her book. Instead of pausing by her, he continues past to the kitchen cabinets, opening them as if he lives there. How does he know where the drinking glasses are, she wonders.

With his back to her, she feels safe enough to let her eyes flicker upwards, though she keeps her head angled downward for maximum deniability should he turn around without warning. The muscles of his arms are lean and powerful. Sculpted of flesh and bone instead of marble. Only reminiscent of Michaelangelo’s David, he conveys more of Barberini Faun: the impressive height and lean strength of him, the low brows hinting at torment. 

Unlike Barberini Faun, there’s nothing overtly sexual about what he’s doing (filling a glass with filtered water from the refrigerator) but Toni finds her back arching in her seat, her sex looking for the blissful pressure it aches for. Toni’s experience with arousal isn’t enough to fill a post-it note with. She’s intimately familiar with erotica, books propped open on her chest with her free hand down between her legs, fingers drifting through her aching folds. At least once a week, she wakes from a hazy, half-formed dream with the urge to roll and wedge a pillow between her legs, to rut against it. There was also that squirming heat that bloomed whenever Natasha stripped her clothes off in the main room of their dorm—but that was nothing Toni was interested in confronting today. 

This man is the first non-fictional person she’s ever experienced such attraction to. Her own naivete is downright sickening. Toni has always prided herself on being knowledgeable and a quick learner, but she has no idea how to make her interest known or how to try to be interesting to him in return. 

_ Idiot _ , she thinks to herself, forcing her eyes back down to her textbook. To interest him would require there to be something interesting or excitable about her. All Toni has going for herself in that regard is an IQ in the 160’s. Hardly a trait to lust over. 

The man is refilling his glass when the patio door opens again. Toni’s heart leaps, grateful for anyone or anything to break this invisible tension and also dreading that they might see her embarrassing ineptitude.

It’s Natasha’s boyfriend Steve, his face flushed with drunkenness. He’d been very polite and thoughtful when Natasha introduced them earlier in the day, with an aura about him that could put any person at ease. Toni found her lips quirking up into a smile just at the sight of him, even when his own smile is directed past her. With a half dozen long steps, he’s crossed the kitchen and scooped the man with the tattoos into a bone-crushing hug, water sloshing from the glass over the both of him

Toni notes that tragically it only turns the dark-haired man’s shirt more see-through. She can almost make out whatever image might be inked onto his pale skin beneath—

“Man, I’m so glad you’re back in the city for a while,” Steve says, voice loose but not slurred. He won’t let his friend go and has instead begun an awkward, drunken slow dance with him, shuffling side to side in a way that has Toni pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. The comical expression of exasperated endearment on the other man’s face makes her feel like she’s swallowed a jarful of butterflies.

He pats Steve on the back. “I missed you too, buddy. Buy me dinner though, first.” 

Steve snorts. He pulls back and turns to Toni whose eyes widen fractionally at being caught watching their exchange.

“Hey Toni, have you met Bucky?” 

“Not formally,” she says, heart pounding. She almost sticks out a hand as if he’s a 60 year old lifelong Senator her father has brought home for dinner. Inside one of the deeper tracks of her consciousness, his name whirs in an endless circle:  _ Bucky Bucky Bucky.  _

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but it is lost as more of Natasha’s closest friends enter, taking refuge in the house as the majority of the party are herded off of the property. Apparently they’re going to have a bonfire with just the inner circle left—how the hell Toni has managed to become a member of that inner circle, she has no idea. While she wishes she were tucked away in one of the guestrooms, reading, at least a party of a dozen sounds infinitely more tolerable. 

Not to mention that fewer party-goers automatically raises the chances for interaction with Bucky, an idea she both anticipates and dreads. Glancing up, her eyes are drawn to his figure where he and the others have retired into the living room, only to find that he’s watching her. She can feel the flush in her face as she turns back to her book, leaning over and hoping that the curtain of her hair hides her embarrassment. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated chapter count because *face palm*

There’s the eight of them: himself, Nat, Steve, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Bruce, and Toni. Natasha has an incredible firepit, all expensive paving stones and matching brick inlaid into the foundation of the patio. Bucky drags his chair back an extra few feet until he can barely feel the warmth of the flames; he doesn’t care for fire. 

Toni is seated across from him, her figure sometimes lost to the flames and shimmering smoke when someone stokes the fire or adds a new log. It’s a mercy and a crime to lose sight of her, her tanned skin glowing orange, the flickering flame enhancing the shadow of her cheekbones and jaw and the modest arch of her breasts. They’d barely be palmfuls to him, easy for him to cup and flick his thumbs over her nipples.

Fucking hell, he thinks, shifting in his seat. Thinking that kind of pornographic bullshit about a girl he’s barely spoken to is perverse at best. To distract himself from the sight of her and the growing tingle in his groin, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes beside his chair and lights one up. 

Around the fire, conversation never ceases. Thor, evidence provided by his deep tan, has been on the west coast and brought home with him a collection of stories with each wilder than the last. The group gets a kick out of teasing Toni for her horrified reactions, the collective good-natured laughter of the group drawing his eyes back to her, reluctantly. She flushes each time, gritting her teeth and rolling her eyes. 

“Come on, T, your turn to tell a story,” Nat goads, trying to draw the reclusive girl into the conversation. All eyes turn to her. Bucky catches her heavy gaze on him before she looks down at her lap where her hands are clenched tightly together. “You’ve told me some. Tell them about your Uncle Obie—”

“I’d rather not,” Toni mutters dryly.

“Oh, please? Please, please, please?” Natasha slips from her perch on Steve’s lap to kneel dramatically at Toni’s feet, her hands clasped together in beseechment. God, she’s so much fucking looser when she’s drunk. Less Macbethian rigidity and more Midsummer Night’s Dream-esque silliness. Murmurs rise up around the fire as the others chime in, hoping the chip away at the girl’s reserved exterior. 

“Isn’t the point of a party to distract yourself from the mundane and unsavory aspects of your life?” Toni wonders, reaching out to pat at Natasha’s hair, red as the flames. (Clint boos, but at least this time Toni’s lips quirk upwards in a smirk. She’s learning to take pleasure in Clint’s disappointment. She’ll fit into their friend group fine, thinks Bucky fondly). 

Nat leans up, pressed flush against Toni’s side. She cups a hand around Toni’s ear as if to give them privacy, only she’s cupping it the wrong way, directing the sound of her stage whisper towards the rest of the group when she says: “Isn’t  _ Bucky  _ distracting you enough?”

Bucky drops his cigarette, flinching to wipe it away from where it lands on his jeans before it can burn a hole through them. The circle grows quiet, the sound of the fire as it crackles nearly deafening in the awkward silence. Toni’s gaze flicker to Bucky—an instinct thanks to Natasha saying his name—and those dark eyes grow wide like moons, her entire face flushing with a cocktail of embarrassment and anger. Nat gapes, suddenly aware of her faux pass, but she has no time to remedy it before Toni is standing. 

“I’m going to go—get a drink,” she mutters, turning away and disappearing inside the house. 

“Damn it,” Nat sighs. Steve reaches out to coax her back into his lap. 

“Great one,” Bucky snaps. He reaches down to pick up his cigarette from the patio, tucking it back into his mouth. No use wasting it. “Really. Can we all give Natasha a round of applause, please?” 

“Lay off, Buck,” Steve says with a frown. Even in the safe circlet of his arms, Natasha’s frown is heavy. 

“I’m sorry, it just came out,” she says. “She’s been staring at you all day.” 

“Toni and Bucky?” Sam says, eyebrows high. “I wouldn’t have seen that coming.” 

“Not like that you dumbass. She can’t stop looking because she thinks I’m a circus freak,” says Bucky. “And you embarrassed the both of us. Anybody else says another word about it and I’m out of here.” 

“Hey,” Clint says fondly, leaning out to lay one of his broad palms on Bucky’s shoulder. With exaggerated coolheadedness, he suggests: “Chill the fuck out.” 

While the two of them begin to trade biting comments much to the amused delight of the rest of the circle, Steve presses a comforting kiss to Natasha’s temple and murmurs in her ear, “How much have you had to drink tonight?” 

Natasha turns her head into the side of his neck to hide from the rest of their friends, lets her quirking lips brush against Steve’s skin as she murmurs, “ _ Nothing _ .”

The patio door opens. Toni appears, cheeks still a little red, with a beer in her hand. Brave little thing, Bucky thinks to himself watching as she returns to her seat and smoothly uses the metal arm of the patio chair to pop the cap off like some kind of expert. She takes a long sip, resolutely looking into the fire as if she can sense everyone’s eyes on her. 

“So,” she says at last. “My Uncle had me kidnapped.” 

A long moment of silence. 

Then, from Clint: “What the  _ fuck _ . While you were in the kitchen?”

-

The group’s drunkenness makes them the perfect audience. There are gasps and exclamations and  _ No fucking way’s! _ as Toni relays a story that’s dramatic and horrifying and apparently entirely true: how a group of hired men had killed one of Toni’s bodyguards and carried the girl off; how her own father hadn’t been willing to pay the ransom; how she had escaped thanks to her own inventiveness only to be picked up by her Uncle Obie, who instead of driving them home, had driven deeper into nowhere. She’d put the puzzle pieces together and thrown herself from the moving car and spent 8 hours walking through the woods before she’d found civilization and returned home. Apparently Uncle Obie is serving a life sentence in Attica. 

“That’s trauma. That’s like, first-class trauma. That’s not carry-on, either. You need to have that trauma luggage checked,” Clint rambles, though everybody is making noises of agreement. “Wait, I’m not the authority on childhood trauma. Wanda?” 

“Trauma,” she decides concisely. Her face hasn’t yet returned to its normal color, not since Howard refused to pay the ten-million-dollar ransom. 

“Hey,” Toni says, grinning. The bottle she’d brought out from the kitchen is empty now, and since it’s completion, she’s been noticeably looser. _Light weight,_ Bucky thinks, the corners of his lips quirking up around his latest cigarette. “I warned you! Honestly, though, it wasn’t that bad. Not my worst kidnapping by far.” 

“Please, no more,” says Wanda. 

“No more,” Toni agrees. The two girls’ chairs are close enough that Toni can lean and rest her head on Wanda’s shoulder, the most outgoing and affectionate she’s been all night. Bucky _isn’t_ going to be fucking jealous of Wanda’s bony shoulder. 

“Should we break out some glow sticks and play more pong?” Natasha suggests. “I’m losing my buzz.” 

Steve makes a face from behind her, probably not eager to see his girlfriend slip back into the verbacious phase of drunkenness, but everyone else promptly agrees, standing to vacate their chairs. 

“Dibs on Bucky as my partner!” Clint shouts. 

“I’m sitting out,” Bucky says. Everyone boos. “I’ll play the winner, okay?” Everyone cheers. 

Natasha’s property is huge, so Bucky lets himself skirt along the edge of the woods, staying within the glow of the fairy lights but walking far enough away that he loses sight of his friends and can only hear their shouts and laughter carried on the wind. It’s become cool enough that he shrugs his jacket back on, his black on black ensemble probably helping him blend into the darkness whenever he steps into the treeline. 

Ever since Becca died and Bucky moved upstate to be with his ma, Bucky has been prone to episodes of melancholy. He used to be a party animal when he’d first met Steve and Nat; they’d become thick as thieves partying together and watching out for each other. Now he can’t make it through a party without feeling the urge to wander off and away, to detach himself physically the way he so often feels emotionally. Finding a sturdy tree, he lets himself rest against it, head pressed against the rough bark, eyes closed (though he can see the glow of the lights through his eyelids). 

“Oh _shit_ —” There comes the violent cracking of sticks and the sound of a body tumbling. Heart pounding from the sudden shout, it only takes a few steps for him to find Toni on the ground, her skirt in a pool around her slim body, dark hair wreathed in gold from the lights above them. She looks up at him, flushed. “I hate nature. Really. And I’m pretty sure that the feeling is mutual.” 

“Are you okay?” Bucky rasps, reaching one of his hands down even though his heart is in his throat. She hesitates at the sight of it before reaching out and tucking her smaller hand into his own and letting him gently pull her up from the ground. “You didn’t twist somethin’ did you?” 

“Just my pride. Wait, you said twisted not destroyed.” 

“Happens to the best of us. And to Clint, too.” 

“Clint more often than others?” she asks. This close, the size difference between them is enough to go to his head and to his gut: she must barely be past five feet tall, slim and willowy and nothing like the girls he usually dates. Then again, he’s probably the last kind of guy she’d ever date. Still, she’s fucking pretty: those dark, big eyes with pinpoints of light in the pupils since she’s got her head tilted up to look at him, her mouth full and wide, chin pointed. 

Bucky clears his throat, already having forgotten her question. “What are you doin’ out here?” 

Toni sets her jaw. “I came to find you.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yes, I—wanted to apologize.” 

Bucky blinks. “What for?” 

She waves a hand back towards the distant sound of their friends. “For today. I didn’t treat you very, very, _god_ , what’s the word. Does being drunk always feel like this, feel like my brain is scrambled eggs? Anyway, I came off like a real bitch.” 

“Nah,” says Bucky, even if it’s a little true. He raises his chin, puts the honeycomb on his neck on display just to watch her eyes be drawn to it, her mouth parting a little. “I’m used to it, kid. Lookin’ the way I do. I understand.” 

“That’s not right, though,” Toni is quick to supply. She still has her eyes on his throat. “It’s your body. Obviously. Also I'm not a _kid_ , I'm twenty-two with a doctorate in engineering. I just, I’ve only ever seen one tattoo before. Excluding TV. It was like, this big? Maybe a little smaller. Of a peony, I think, maybe  _ paeonia lactiflora _ , something in the paeonia family, anyway. I’ve just never seen anyone who looked like you before.” 

Bucky doesn’t wince, but it’s a close call. “I get it.” 

“You look so—” Bucky prepares himself for some kind of noun or adjective that he’ll have to swallow down like the most bitter medicine, grit his teeth and accept. Based on her expression, she’s still struggling to find the words she wants, her expression open and almost-awed in a way that makes him feel like he’s standing on the ridge of a tree root liable to fall over any moment. “You look like art.” 

Whatever Bucky was expecting—it wasn’t that. She means it, too. He can tell. The shell she’s fortified around herself all night has cracked, and inside he can see the embryonic hints of a girl very young (though not nearly as young as he had thought, thank god), whose life until recently has been forcefully closed off and punctuated with moments of real terror. She isn’t horrified. She’s awed. She’s intrigued. She’s _curious_. 

On a whim, Bucky shrugs off his jacket. It’s intoxicating to see her expression change: the eyes widen, the mouth parts, all at the sight of him alone. It’s a heady power that he isn’t used to feeling. But does the power belong to him, or is it simply washing over him? Maybe this slip of a girl is really the one with the power, power that he feels helpless to bend to. 

Holding out a hand, he feels something like a princess offering his knuckles for her to kiss. She reaches out on instinct, stopping just shy of his skin to look up in question. The area beneath her slim fingers buzzes like the air before a lightning strike. He nods, willing to be struck. 

Fingers with calloused tips brush from his first knuckle down over the letter (H, HATE across his left proximal digits and LOVE across the right ones). He holds his breath, begging his hand not to tremble at her touch as she trails her burning fingers up over the hill of his knuckle and down into the valley where the skin is thin and sensitive. 

“I can’t even feel it,” Toni mutters. “Which, I mean, I knew. The ink penetrates all the way down to the dermis to avoid the keratinization process, but it’s just—I thought I would  _ feel  _ it.” 

More breathless than he’d like to be: “Not sure what all that means. Sometimes you can feel them, though. When they don’t heal right.” 

She looks up at him with wide, glittering eyes. “Is that so?” 

Bucky nods. She hums, turning her eyes back to his hand where she runs her fingers over the ivy along the back, mussing the soft thin hairs that grow there. His throat clicks when he swallows, but he doesn’t think she can hear it, not over the screech of the evening insects and not through the trance she seems to be in, turning his hand this way and that way, coaxing it into supination so she can follow the trail of leaves. 

She drags the tip of her fingernail gently down the center of his palm and he can’t help but shudder. There’s a dangerous heat blooming in his gut and several inches lower the tell tale feeling of blood rushing south. Thank God his jeans are tight enough to pin his cock close to his body. 

“Why nothing here?” she asks, tapping the center of his palm just over his head line. 

“They don’t take as well.” 

“Thicker skin,” says Toni. “Epithelium on the palms and soles can be three times thicker than your average layer epithelial tissue. That must make it difficult to get to the dermis.” 

“You learn that at school?” 

“No; I’m at NYU for physics. But I read a lot.” She moves on from his palm, tracing the ivy down his forearm. The skin is so sensitive that he can’t hide the goosebumps that bloom or the way his body shivers. She doesn’t remark on it, but her eyes do flicker up to gauge his expression. Fuck, she must see right through him. He’s got no idea what he looks like, but if it’s anything like how he feels (and his ma always did say that he was an open book), then she knows everything in a single glance. How infatuated he is. How attracted he is. 

She shivers. He reaches down to pick up his jacket and offers it to her, the both of them laughing when she slips it on and has to push the sleeves up. It shouldn’t feel so good to see her in his clothes, but it does. Jesus, it does. 

With firmness, she guides his arm outward away from his side so that she can see the entire upper portion of the sleeve, the portrait of Strazza’s the Veiled Virgin. The way she moves him, twists him this way and that way has his cock aching.  _ I’d take orders from her all day long _ , he thinks to himself, wishing he could reach down and adjust himself without drawing attention to his aching hard on.  _ All night, too.  _

On his right arm, she repeats many of the same gestures, tracing the hills and valleys of his knuckles, examining his pale, unmarked palms, tracing the veins up his forearms, pausing to scratch gently at one of the dotted geometric shapes on his bicep. It’s torture to stand there and feel her touch on him, her eager, intoxicated eyes eating up his skin. _You look like art,_ she had said. Under her hands, he feels like it. 

When she runs into the sleeve of his t-shirt, she coaxes it back, trying to follow the trail of a chain. She makes a soft, unhappy sound when she can’t expose any more skin. It makes him swallow on reflex, bicep tightening under her hand as a thought comes to him. He opens his mouth to offer but shuts it again quickly. 

“What?” she asks, looking up at the motion in the corner of her eye. 

“Nothing.” 

“Wh-at?” 

“I was just—I’ll take it off for you. If you want to keep looking.” 

Her eyes get heavy-lidded, roaming over his face as she searches for something. Somehow, she looks even drunker than she did moments ago when he first found her sprawled out on the ground. Not that he blames her; he hasn’t had a drink since the bonfire began, but he still feels drunk enough without it. Then he realizes why: she isn't drunk, she's turned on. The way she's shifting and can't stand still, thighs pressing together tight. _This is turning her on_ , and that thought is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. 

“Okay,” she says. She pokes his shoulder, her aim affected. “I want to see where this one ends.” 

Bucky steps back to give himself the room needed to take off his shirt, though Toni seems to sway towards him. Like he’s got a gravitational pull, like she’s fallen too deep into his atmosphere to pull away now. With a shaking breath, he reaches for the neck of the shirt and tugs it off over his head, losing sight of her for just a moment. 

She takes him in. His chest isn’t as saturated as his arms are. The honeycomb runs down to his collar bones before the lines begin to break down, reassemble into sheet music. Strict black and white linework that uses his own pale skin as the paper of the page. The chain that led up over his shoulder curves around his back to knot itself around the middle of his backpiece. From the base of his sternum down to the V of his hips, he is bare. Planning something big, he thinks, though he only has half-formed ideas. 

Through each of his pale pink nipples are barbells. 

“Good _God_ ,” Toni mutters under her breath. She places a burning palm on one of his bare shoulders so that she can lean in and remark, “ _Why_ would you do that? Didn’t that hurt?” 

She’s so close that he can feel her breath fan across his chest. God, to reach out and tangle his fingers in her dark hair and draw her mouth those last six inches, to feel the soft rasp of her tongue over his sensitive nipples. He nearly groans at the thought. His nipples tighten under the attention of her gaze, aching in the best way. 

“It all hurt,” Bucky rasps. The bite of the piercing needles, the sting of the tattoo gun—all of it had given him a sense of euphoria. A sense of pride in his body the likes of which he hadn’t had when he was young and insecure. “I guess I liked it anyway.” 

She draws her fingers over the lines of his clavicles before turning her hand over so that the soft backs of her fingers trail down one defined pec. Maybe she tries to avoid it, her spatial reasoning fucked thanks to the beers she's had, but her pinky _drags over his nipple._ He does groan this time, the brief spike of pleasure going straight to his aching cock. One of his own hands drops, almost grabs his erection on instinct before he wills it away, reaching out to grip at a nearby low treebranch.

Toni pulls back like she’s been burned. “Sorry,” she says. “Did that hurt?” 

Bucky clears his throat but doesn’t trust his voice. Instead, he shakes his head in the negative. She resumes her teasing touches, asking him to turn this way and that way, giving a delighted laugh at the spinal column tattooed from the nape of his neck down. _Anatomically correct_ , she says. _Though some of the cervical vertebrae are missing._

Every word she says goes straight to his cock whether it's about intervertebral disc space or whatever else. With his back to her and her attention on the tattoos there, he lets his hand drop as covertly as possible, rubbing without mercy at his confined cock, desperately willing the thing away. The rough touch nearly brings him to the brink, he’s that fucking close, innervated by every drag of her fingers, every press of her palm, every scratch of her curious fingernails. His head falls back, eyes shut tight against the lights above them, wondering if he can hide cumming in his pants long enough to get back to the house, say goodbye, and scram. 

He pulls his hand back just as he feels the firm pressure of her turning him to face her, but this time there is no avoiding it. Her eyes have fallen naturally to the lines of ink peeking just over the waistband of his jeans. But centered in between and six inches lower is a bulge that can’t be disguised as anything but what it is. Bucky winces, reaching up to drag one palm against his forehead. This is probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him, and Jesus, when Toni tells Nat about how Bucky coaxed her to feel him up and then popped a stiffie over it, the redhead will kill him. 

When Toni speaks, her voice is an octave lower, letting one thumb brush against the flash of ink on his right hip. “Should—I mean...should you take your pants off?” 

Bucky blinks. That was the last thing he expected to hear come from her mouth. “I...don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Toni’s face crumples a little. “Right. Sorry. I misread things. My therapist says I struggle with social cues.” 

“Hey, that ain’t it,” says Bucky. He doesn’t like that look on her face, that burned, insecure expression. He’ll wipe the expression right off of her even if it means he embarrasses himself further. “It’s just been a long time since— _Jesus_ , Buck, don’t say _that_. I mean that I’m not really known for my self control, and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” 

“I can’t fathom a world right now where I’d regret you taking your pants off.” 

“You can’t fathom it right _now_. But what about later when you sober up, huh?” 

Toni rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her thin chest, the picture of childish petulance. “Oh come on. I’m not that drunk. Look, I’m an adult and you’re an adult. I’d really like to—to touch you, and correct me if I'm wrong but you seem like you’re receptive.” 

Bucky’s cock supports the idea, twitching towards her. Fucking traitor. He steps back to put distance between them, to stop breathing her in and feeling the heat of her and to maybe clear his fucking head. It’s no wonder if he doesn’t have the oxygen to use his brain when all the blood has gone right to his dick. 

“Toni,” he rasps lowly. “Come on, honey. Don’t do me like this. I’m trying to be good here.” 

“I like the way you say my name,” she says, taking a step forward to make up for the distance he tries to put between them. Her face is a helpless mix between arousal and innocence: eyes heavy and pupils huge, cheeks flushed, mouth parted. She can’t have any idea what she’s doing to him, what she’s been doing to him since he saw her head ducked over a textbook in the middle of a raging party. 

His back hits a tree, the rough bark scratching at his bare skin. He lets his head fall back, working to keep his breathing stable. “Toni. You should go back to the house.” 

She pursues him with a single-minded intensity. He feels frozen under her eyes, just one of Medusa’s admirers helpless to look away. She’s so short that when she presses herself flush against him, his cock is nestled against her belly. The pressure makes his head spin even as he presses his hips backward, pinning himself to the tree to keep from grinding against the firmness of her body. 

“I don’t have any practice,” she says, placing a palm against his sternum and dragging it down, down, down until it cups his clothed cock, hand looking downright dainty against him. He sees stars behind his eyes, cock jerking beneath her grip even though she is being far too gentle. “But I’m well versed in the theory, and I think you’ll find I’m a quick learner.” 

If she _thought_ that would seduce him, she is both right and wrong. A tiny primitive part of his brain revels in confirmation of what he already expected—if she’d barely seen tattoos in person, of course she didn’t have any sexual experience. He would be the _first_ , the one to stain her like ink across her skin. His cock would touch places inside of her that hadn’t ever been touched. There is a darkness in him that would revel in splitting her open, in being the first to make her cum with his fingers and mouth and cock. 

But there’s no fucking way he’d ever even voice those thoughts, much less give into them. What kind of a person is he to be aroused by the thought of taking her virginity, of taking advantage of her drunken state and lack of experience? 

His fingers wrap all the way around her wrist when he pulls her away. With firmness, bending down so that they are nearly nose to nose, he says: “ _ No _ . I’m not that kind of guy. You want me so bad? Come find me when you’re sober.” 

Toni staggers away from him, nearly upending herself. Her face is pale, and she looks a little like she’s going to be sick. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I know what no means.” 

“I know you do,” Bucky says softly. He lets his hand fall, fingertips brushing against the pale skin above his waistband, above his aching cock. Her eyes track the movement, throat bobbing while she swallows. Fuck, that hungry look on her face is almost too much. She’s hungry for it even if she’s never had it, even if she hardly knows what she wants. “You couldn’t take advantage of me if you tried. Trust me. I just—I ain’t gonna take advantage of you neither.” 

Her eyes roll. “My hero. Thanks. Can’t believe I’m going back to the party with sticky panties. That’s really uncomfortable, you know.” 

Bucky groans. “Don’t tell me nothing about your panties.” 

“At least we’re both suffering,” she says with a vindictive smile. She jerks a thumb towards the sound of their friends’ voices just as a cheer rises up, echoed by the angry shouts of someone losing and demanding a rematch. “Are you coming? We can walk back together.” 

Shifting, Bucky reaches down and adjusts himself. “I’ll be there as soon as I can walk.” 

He watches as she walks away, her hair and dark skirt blending into the darkness until he loses sight of her completely. Bucky lets out a long breath. Is he the stupidest man in the world or the strongest? Maybe both. Turning her down had taken everything in him, and a part of him knew that come morning when she sobered up she would probably avoid his presence, avert her eyes from his gaze, embarrassed of how she had come on to him. To someone _like_ him. 

But just then? She had wanted him. Wanted to touch him. _Touching him had made her wet._ The thought has him groaning. In solitude, he can let one hand drop without guilt to grope as his aching erection. There’s no chance that it will go away on its own, not when his every waking thought is her. There’s only one way to be able to return to the party with some semblance of normality. 

Bucky unfastens his belt and then the button of his jeans. He slides the zipper down and his cock bulges free, still covered in his dark boxer-briefs. The head of him has wet the fabric, steady precum leaking from the tip and he presses his thumb against it until the pleasure threatens to slip into pain, his balls throbbing with a load the likes of which will probably set a new personal record for him. 

Reaching past the waistband, he draws his cock free. The first touch of the cooling night air has him letting out a noise from low in his throat. Widening his stance as best as he can with his jeans still on, he lets one hand drop down to cup his balls. They’re firm, ready to draw up at a moment’s notice. His fingers wrap around the shaft giving one long, tight stroke. He usually likes lube, but as much as he’s leaking, he can make do without it. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he mutters, eyes rolling in relief. 

That’s the moment when Toni comes barreling through the trees again, freezing at the sight of him half-naked with his cock in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> criticism welcome, come talk on tumblr @cagestark


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky doesn’t know how he didn’t see this coming. If luck was all he had, he’d have nothing. Some greater force keeps drawing them back into each other’s orbit, except with his pants down and his hand around his cock is the most inconvenient place for those orbits to cross.

“ _ Oh my god _ ,” Toni says, her voice guttural and pulled from someplace deep in her chest. One hand is pressed between her breasts, startled, like she’s trying to hold her heart in place. Despite stumbling onto a very private moment, she doesn’t look away. Her entire gaze is focused on his cock even as he hastily shoves it back into his boxers and tries to tug up his jeans around his slim hips. 

Over one of her slim arms is his jacket which she had walked away with. 

“I thought you were just going to wait until it went away,” she says. “I didn’t know you— _ why’d you stop? _ ”

“What the hell do you mean, _why’d I stop?”_

She steps out of the treeline teetering between confident and timid: chin up but shoulders stiff. “Keep going.” 

“It’s not exactly a collaboration—” 

“I’m not collaborating. Consider me a, an audience.” 

_ “What?” _

Sounding more like a question than a statement, she says: “I want to watch you.”

Bucky lets out a long trembling breath, head thudding back against the tree trunk helplessly, eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see her determined expression. Why is he being tested this way? Is this Heaven or Hell, because he can’t tell the difference. 

“In what world,” he asks, slitting his eyes open. “Would jerkin’ off in front of you not count as taking advantage of you? It’s like—indecent exposure!”

Like a shark with blood, she must be able to smell the weakness in the air around him because she uses it to creep a step closer, her eyes locked on the dark bulge visible beneath his open jeans. Her gaze has weight, pinning him in place and making his cock jerk, the poor bastard. It feels all the worse to be tucked away and neglected when just a moment ago he’d been chasing a quickly approaching orgasm. 

“I’ll stay right here,” she says, pointing to a soft spot of grass almost a dozen feet away. “How can you take advantage of me all the way over here?” 

Bucky shakes his head. But he makes no move to button up his jeans. 

“Bucky.” A jolt goes down his spine to settle in his cock; it’s the first time he’s ever heard his name come from her mouth, and he wants to hear it again. Wants to pull it from her throat and chest, wants to hear it shouted and groaned and whispered and whined. “I, I _really_ want to watch you touch yourself.” 

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he mutters. The arousal makes his head fuzzy until it’s hard to think about anything else. He closes his eyes to take several steadying breaths. With a hand that trembles the slightest bit, he points. “You stay over there. The whole time.”

“Yes,” Toni hisses, maybe an answer to his demand, maybe just a victorious oath. 

“Further back.  _ Further _ . That’s—fine.” 

Toni spreads out his jacket and kneels, leaning back until she is seated on her heels. Her skirt pools around her, dark and floaty, turning her into a forest nymph. Albeit, one that can’t seem to get comfortable if the way she shifts says anything.  _ She’s wet, _ he remembers, cock twitching. He’d bet that she feels like liquid heat if he could slip his hands up her skirt and shift her soaked panties aside. Touch her where she’s never been touched by anyone else before. Take her clit between his fingers, hold her thighs apart and show her no mercy. 

“Come on,” she says with breathless eagerness. “Take it out, I want to see it again."

“I swear to  _ god  _ Toni, if you try and come over here—” 

“I won’t,” she promises. It’s the clearest her eyes have been seen she first stumbled across him in the trees. “You said not to. No means no, right?” 

He lets out a long breath. “Right.” 

Reaching down, he drags the waistband of his boxers away and down until they rest with his jeans beneath his balls. Once he starts, he knows that he won’t be able to stop. 

“This...isn’t going to take long,” he admits. Bucky’s chin drops towards his chest as he finally wraps his hand around himself again. He’s slick and hot in his grip, working himself with long, slow strokes, wringing beads of cum from the head. It’s so good that it almost hurts having been kept so close to the edge for this long. With nothing else to look at, he lets his eyes settle on her. 

Toni looks entranced. Feverish, her hands fisted in her skirt and her eyes glued to where his hand rhythmically strips his cock. For a moment, he thinks that she’s swaying drunkenly, but then he realizes that she’s tilted her pelvis, unconsciously seeking friction on her cunt.

“You don’t have any clue what you’re doin’ to me,” he says through his teeth. 

Her eyes don’t even leave his cock. “ _ Tell me _ .” 

“Driving me to distraction all night,” he admits. “Making me so goddamn conflicted. Part of me wants to push you back into the grass and bury my face between your legs, tease you like you were teasing me. Keep you right there on the edge for as long as I wanted, until you’re crying because you need it so bad. I could do it. I’m, how’d you say it?  _ Practiced _ .” 

A sound slips from her throat, something high and breathy and destroyed. “Keep going,” she says, chest heaving from rapid breaths. 

Bucky is helpless to obey. He licks his lips.

“Another part of me thinks that you’d like being in charge. You like power, don’t you honey? The power you’ve got over me. You want me to lay back and be good for you, let you use me? You could get off that way, just dragging your clit back ‘n forth against my cock. Afterward, you would get to decide whether I cum or not, if I get mine or if you leave me aching all night just because you want to. Just because you  _ can _ .” 

She groans his name. 

Gasping, he takes his hand from his cock to keep from shooting his load. His cock bobs in the night air, beads of cum dripping from the head until he almost thinks that he’s cum anyway, ruined it for himself. But the pressure in his balls remains and a single loose stroke drives the pressure higher.

Maybe he should draw it out, he thinks, seek to make himself look impressive to her. But then his eyes drift back to her. 

Toni has laid herself back in the grass, propped up on one elbow. Dark hair pools on the ground, her face tipped up towards the trees, mouth parted. Her other tanned hand has disappeared beneath the waistband of her skirt. The fabric is tugged down far enough to bare a palm’s worth of flat midriff to his hungry eyes, but it’s hardly what has his attention. Being covered, he can only see the shape of her hand and the muted movements it makes, but there is no doubt what she’s doing. 

Bucky has just enough foresight to sink his teeth into his knuckles and stifle the noise that tears free from his chest as his balls tighten. He cums before he even manages a second stroke, seed spurting onto the grass as he resumes his prior pace. His eyes are open but unseeing, hand squeezing tight as he fucks into the ring his fingers make, milking every last drop from himself. By the time his vision returns, his legs are shaking, throat raw, the taste of blood in his mouth. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Toni cries. She barely sounds like herself. Gone is the low melodic voice she’s lulled him with all night; instead she sounds the way his own throat feels, her chest heaving in a way that makes him want to coax it up underneath her arms so that he can taste every inch of her burning skin. “ _Bucky please touch me—”_

He drops to his knees, wiping cum onto the grass before wrenching up his pants to fasten them.

_ “Please, will you help me, please—”  _

He crawls that last stretch of distance until he’s close enough to breathe in the faint smell of her expensive perfume, the scent of smoke—and beer.

_ “I’m so close—”  _

His hands shake with the urge to reach out and touch her, but—

“I can’t,” he says. “I can’t, honey, you’ve got to do it yourself.” 

“No- _o_ ,” she moans. Her knees rise until the soles of her feet are flat on the ground, skirt pulled down by gravity until both of her slim, tanned legs are revealed. The pooled skirt covers her uppermost thighs and hides the movement of her hand, but now she has the leverage to move her hips in shallow thrusts, and that imagery nearly wrecks him. “I can’t. I _can’t_.” 

“You can, come on, focus. Lay back—there, good. Tease your nipples, it will help.” His mouth goes dry at the easy way she obeys without any snarky comebacks, laying back in the grass and shoving a hand up her soft cotton top. Teasing her tits because he told her too. God, if he hadn’t cum already, he’d be blowing his load now. 

Her eyes are closed tight, forehead creased in concentration. 

“Fuck me,” Bucky murmurs brokenly. “You’re so fucking beautiful you know that? Dirty, too. Touching yourself like this where anyone could see you, where _I_ can see you—” 

She gives a stuttered laugh, thighs shaking around her own hand: “Hypocrite.” 

“At least I know I’m dirty,” he says. “You didn’t even know the depths of your own depravity before tonight, did you honey? Now you’re getting a clue, but I bet you’re just scrapin’ the surface. It’s an itch you’ll always be reaching to scratch, trust me.”

“Might help if I had an extra set of hands,” she says through her teeth. 

“If that’s what you need, then you won’t cum at all,” says Bucky. “But I’d bet—” 

“ _Hello_!”

The voice echoes in the space around them, bouncing off the trees. Both of their heads turn, twin expressions of horror on their faces. Beneath the screech of crickets and cicadas comes the sound of someone picking their way through the trees with slow, careful steps.

“No, no, no,” Toni groans lowly. 

“It’s Wanda,” Bucky mutters. “Jesus, where’s my fucking shirt?” 

A hand, warm from where it was cupping her own breast, reaches out and wraps around his wrist with surprising strength. Toni looks up at him with wide, frantic eyes, lips red and bitten raw. “But I’m _close_ , I—” 

“You want Wanda to help you with that?” Bucky asks. “Because she’s going to be here any moment.” 

Toni lets her head fall back to thud against the soft grass, the picture of frustration and dejection. He goes to rise again but her fingers tighten, pulling him back to her side. Some complex emotion is playing out across her pretty face, and he can’t follow it. For a moment he thinks something is on the tip of her tongue, but then something is on the tip of his. 

Sliding her hand from the waistband of her skirt, he gets the brief glimpse of her fingers glistening wet before she smears them across his mouth, his lips parting on instinct as the taste of her bursts on his tongue, mostly tasteless with a hint of musk that has him groaning, his mouth chasing her hand even as she pulls away. 

“Get your shirt,” she says. 

He tugs it into place just as Wanda breaks through the treeline, eyeing them with suspicion that is quickly dissolved. 

“Nat says she’s ready to play the reigning champ,” Wanda says. “I’m supposed to escort you back. Toni, are you alright?”

“Fine,” she mutters, standing on shaky legs. She picks up Bucky’s jacket and hands it to him as she passes, the flush still high in her cheeks, eyes refusing to make contact with him. Walking past either of them, she tracks her way through the woods with loud, careless steps. 

Wanda blinks at him. “Something I said?” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be decently lengthy ;)


	4. Chapter 4

It’s three in the morning when Toni feels confident enough to slip out from between the soft cotton sheets of one of Natasha’s guest bedrooms. It has been forty-five minutes since she heard the last stirring coming from the room beside her’s—Sam is apparently a bit of an insomniac. The cool air of the room on her bare legs has her shivering along with the thrill of anxious-excitement in her stomach. She isn’t doing anything  _ wrong  _ by sneaking out of her own room and into Bucky’s, but having it all take place in the dead of night with everyone asleep certainly makes her feel illicit. 

She takes a long moment to assess herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her hair has just begun to dry from the shower she took. When she presses some of the damp tendrils to her nose, all she can smell is acacia instead of smoke. The nightgown she’s wearing is hardly that, just one of Rhodey’s old shirts that falls past the crease where her thigh meets her ass. Beneath it are the only clean panties she had packed, sensible cotton ones. Nothing like the scraps of lace and silk that she’s seen in Natasha’s drawers and laundry hamper, but she doesn’t think Bucky will mind. And if he does mind? Then he’ll just have to peel them off of her. 

Reaching down, she softly traces her fingers over the cotton crotch of the underwear, noting the damp heat. Ever since Bucky had shed his pale t-shirt under the warm glow of the fairy lights, Toni had been wet. When she finished stomping her way through the woods after Wanda’s interruption, she’d had to disappear off to the bathroom to wipe away her own slick before it could drip down her thighs. Sitting there on the closed porcelain toilet seat, two fingers pressed flat against her clit, she’d been tempted to finish herself off. 

To use the two fingers Bucky had sucked clean (God, she could still see his face burned behind her eyelids, the way his stormy eyes had rolled back like he was licking ambrosia off of her instead of cum). 

But Toni didn’t like to do anything in halves. She would cum with Bucky tonight, or not at all. 

Creeping on silent, bare feet over to the door, she twists the doorknob and pulls the door inward. The hinges don’t squeak, nor does the floor as she slips out of the guestroom, careful to close the door behind herself less anyone pass in the night and see she isn’t there. When Natasha had directed them all to bedrooms, she had told Bucky to take his ‘usual room’, the one at the end of the hallway. That’s where Toni creeps, past Sam, past Clint. She holds her breath as she takes the cool doorknob in her palm.

_ Is he asleep already? _ She wonders. It would be thrilling to slip between the sheets with him, to wake him with her body pressed against his hard one. Maybe he’s awake like her, though, trying to convince himself to slip his way into her room. Toni only opens the door as wide as she needs to get inside. Then, she stares at the bed, eyes widening because—

Bucky isn’t there. 

Dread coils in her stomach. Had he  _ left _ ? He hadn’t been drunk like the others. What if he had decided to avoid any more interaction with Toni altogether, to slip out of the house and off into the night like some womanizing vagabond from her mother’s romance novels? He had gotten his, after all. Isn’t that all men ever want? Maybe with the blood back in his brain instead of his cock, he realized that he was out of Toni’s league.

Toni shuts Bucky’s door and nearly returns to her own room. But then she remembers the way he had wandered off outside, how he had seemed like he needed to put distance between himself and the others. With expectations low, she pads silently to the stairs, feeling her way down them carefully in the dark. 

She isn’t disappointed. 

There he is, seated in one armchair, his head leaned back and one tattooed arm thrown over his eyes. An afghan that had been draped over the back of the couch is in a heap on the floor. Either Bucky is an insomniac like Sam or there is something keeping him from sleeping. 

Toni must make some noise on the stairs because Bucky’s arm jerks away from over his eyes and he is staring at her with wide, bloodshot eyes. At the sight of her, he makes a noise in the back of his throat and returns to covering his eyes. 

“Shouldn’t you be in your room?” he asks. His voice is low but not a whisper, and Toni can’t help the way her heart jumps into her throat, turning to glance back up the stairs as if expecting one of the others to come bursting from their room to inspect the noise. When no one comes, she takes a steadying breath and takes the last few steps down the stairs. Sightless in the armchair, Bucky adds: “That sounds like the  _ wrong  _ direction for your room.” 

“I’m not going to my room,” Toni says, matching the low pitch of his voice. 

Sighing, Bucky sits up. He has shed his shirt again for comfort while he attempts to sleep. His skin looks carved from marble in the moonlight, the pale expanse only interrupted by the ink that divides him up and decorates him. His jeans have ridden low, belt off and left by his shirt, and it gives Toni a few more precious inches of the tattoos that rest at either hipbone: bold, encircled stars. 

“If you were smart, you would,” says Bucky, his eyes glued to her legs. 

“ _ If _ I were smart? I solved the Kepler Conjecture when I was six.” 

Bucky winces, seeming to understand his insulting words. “I mean, I know you’re smart. Doctorate in engineering—goddamn you’re smart. But there’s more to being smart than numbers.” 

All his talk, but he isn’t working to get away from her. He doesn’t lift a finger to stop her while she takes slow, purposeful steps towards him until she’s standing inches from him, their knees nearly touching, bare skin to denim. Still, he stares at her legs, at her tanned thighs. She wonders what would happen if—

Letting her arms raise in a stretch, the shirt rides up and up. Bucky’s eyes open wider and wider until he’s staring at her white cotton panties with a stricken expression, the shadow of her well-trimmed pubic hair just barely visible. His throat bobs with a painful swallow as her arms fall back to their neutral position. Toni feels infused with power, drunk with it. While she didn’t doubt the existence of feminine sexuality (she lives with Nat, doesn’t she?), Toni had never considered her own ability to wield it. The way Bucky looks at her makes her slick between her legs, makes her head feel light.

Makes her bold. 

“Do you  _ not  _ want to have sex?” she asks. “Because I want to have sex.” 

“It’s not about what I  _ want _ ,” he rasps. “It’s about what’s right. You don’t know what you’re getting into, and it’d be wrong of me to take advantage of that while you’re drunk.” 

Toni places her palm in the center of his chest over his pounding heart and pressing him firmly back into his seat. She plants one knee beside him, wedged between the chair and his thigh, and then climbs fully onto his lap. His breath comes full and slow, like he’s counting them. The rasp of his jeans against her sensitive inner thighs has her clit aching. 

“First of all,” she says. “I’m not some sort of child; I’m a  _ virgin _ . There’s a difference, believe it or not. _ I don’t know what I’m getting into? _ Unless you have a second cock which I somehow missed, I know exactly what I’m getting into. Or rather what I’d like to get into  _ me _ . Second, I had two beers, and one shot before I followed you. That was five hours ago. If you’re scared and trying to come up with an excuse to keep from fucking me, you’ll need to think harder than that. The only thing  _ wrong  _ about this situation is that I haven’t cum yet. So let’s talk about solutions.” 

After her monologue, she is left panting, their faces so close that their breaths mingle. 

Bucky reaches out and cups one of her jaws, pulling her face down towards his own. Her eyes flutter shut on instinct, preparing for a kiss (their first, she thinks with a giddiness that is downright embarrassing), but instead he holds her face there inches from his own. When her eyes open, she narrows in on the furrow of his brows and the frown of his mouth. Beneath her, there is a growing bulge in his jeans that makes her thighs clench around his own. 

His eyes rake across her face with an intensity she could never hope to match. 

“You really are sober,” he murmurs. His thumb traces the line of her chin with tenderness.

“You know what else I am?” Toni asks. With a trembling hand, she reaches down between her legs. The shirt has ridden up dangerously high on her thighs and her wrist pulls it up the rest of the way while she cups her sex over her underwear. “I’m  _ wet _ .” 

In an instant, Bucky grabs her hand and drags it to his face, breathing in like he’s smelling her (thank God she has showered, she thinks breathlessly, even though he had done more than smell her—he had fucking tasted her just hours ago out in the woods). The groan he lets out has her heart skipping. 

“If you want me, I’m yours,” he says, nuzzling against her palm. “Can’t say no to you. Don’t want to say no to you, ever.” 

His consent overwhelms her. She lowers herself the last few inches until her cunt is pressed flush against his jean-clad erection, and God it feels so good. Reaching out to steady herself with his shoulders, she lets her body lead the way, back arching on instinct so that she can grind against his hardness. Bucky’s hands ghost up her thighs before taking her hips in his broad hands, encouraging her to make long, hard strokes. Her body sags forward as she buries her face in his neck, breaths shaking. 

Already, she feels the heat inside her building. 

“I—I could cum like this,” she admits into the junction between his shoulder and neck. “Should I stop?” 

Bucky groans. His fingers tighten their grip on her. “The hell should you stop for? Show me, honey.  _ Show me _ how you can cum like this.” 

“Bucky,” she gasps, body shivering at his words. 

Using his feet on the floor as leverage, he drives his hips upwards. If his jeans and her underwear weren’t in the way, they would be fucking. But even this is good,  _ so  _ good, so much better than her fingers. Even better is his voice in her ear muttering the filthiest things: “There you go. Chase yours, honey. Your body knows what to do, doesn’t it? Come on, Toni, tilt your hips, oh  _ yes _ , there you go. That’s right against your clit, isn’t it? That feel good?” 

The coil inside her winds tighter and tighter, throat constricting until she feels like she can hardly breathe much less answer his questions. His hands slide from her hips back towards her ass, fingers slipping beneath the fabric until he’s digging his fingers into the flesh where the curve of her ass becomes the curve of her vulva, pulling her apart until the lips of her sex spread and her clit has to take the brunt of the thrusts. 

The coil snaps. For a moment her entire body goes still, frozen in time. Then the pressurized ball of pleasure that’s been condensing bursts, all her muscles stiffening and unstiffening as if she’s in the throes of a seizure. Bucky whispers the dirtiest encouragement to her, his hands drifting back to her hips to help smooth her jerky, desperate thrusts. She hardly recognizes the sounds that pour from her mouth and feels helpless to stop them as the sweetest pleasure floods from her pelvis outward, washing over her in waves that she feels helpless against. 

“ _ —so _ good, Jesus, Toni, the noises you make drive me insane. Come on, lean back, show me your face—” 

And she can’t imagine what he could want to see her  _ face  _ for, but she does as he asks anyway, tipping herself back into a seated position so that he can look at her. She’s too busy looking at him to wonder what he might be seeing, to think that her expression might be mimicked on his face, the glossy heated eyes, the flush that’s trailing down his inked collar bones. 

Suddenly she is overcome with the need to feel that inked skin with her mouth, to trace it with her tongue, to rub her lips against the smooth skin until they are raw and swollen. Still overcome with twitching aftershocks, it feels good to keep rubbing against his cock so she does, the simplicity of chasing feel-good sensations overwhelming her higher functioning. Parting her mouth, she places a wet kiss to the honeycomb on his throat. Above her, he makes a tortured sound, trailing his hands gently from her thighs over her flank and up the arch of her back. 

His skin is warm and clean, tasting faintly of the scent of whatever masculine body wash Nat keeps stocked in the guest bathrooms. A helpless noise slips past her lips as she lets her mouth drift up to the wasp just beneath his ear to suck. 

“God,” he rasps, voice buzzing the skin beneath her mouth. “You gonna mark me up? Suck harder, honey, I can take it. I’m gonna be covered in you before the night’s through, in more ways than one.” 

_ Harder _ ? she thinks. A tendril of righteous fury unwinds in her belly—he kept her waiting for so long, wielded his morals like a shield against her obvious affection. And while there is a sensible part of her that sees these are  _ good  _ things, a part of her that is even glad he did those things, she feels overcome with the need for pleasurable vengeance. She opens her mouth wider and bites him, sinking her teeth into skin, body thrumming when he jerks and groans. 

The sounds of him, his smell, his flesh against her tongue stokes the fire that had just been smothered, igniting coals inside of her. 

“Can I have your cock now?” she asks. “I feel— _ empty _ .” 

Bucky’s head tips back until it rests against the headrest of the armchair. His face catches the moonlight, and Toni can just barely see the blooming mark on his throat outlined by the crescents of her teeth. 

Then he is shaking his head. “Not yet,” he says. “Need to get you naked, first. Here, get up—” 

Toni stands coltish in front of him. His eyes scan her from head to toe, stopping where her nipples are visible through the thin shirt. He reaches out and fists a hand in the fabric and tugs her forward until he is nuzzling against her sternum. Then he gathers the excess and tugs it tight across the modest swell of her breasts. Suddenly she is hyper-aware of how her breasts ache, nipples tight desperate points. Then he leans forward and takes one clothed tip into his mouth, sucking at her through the cotton. 

She slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out and waking the house. His other fingers toy with the neglected peak, strumming the pad of his thumb over it. It feels like there is a direct connection between her nipples and her clit and that when he teases one, it teases the other. 

When he pulls his mouth away, the cotton of her shirt is damp and see-through. She shivers as it cools, leaving goosebumps on her skin—but then he is switching to the other breast and he lights her on fire all over again. 

“Bucky,” she whines. 

He parts his mouth from her reluctantly, lapping at the cotton one last time. His hands skim down the curve of her hips until his palms reach the hem of her shirt. Pale eyes flash burning hot when he glances up in question. Toni barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes; instead, she reaches down for the hem and in one simple motion strips it from her body. 

Bucky groans. Beneath the shirt, she is naked except for her soaked panties. Toni has no illusions of her physical appearance: she is average at best. But Bucky still looks at her like he wants to eat her whole, one of his hands reaching down to rub at his erection. Emboldened, she reaches down and slides the panties off too, lets them pool at her ankles before stepping out of them delicately. 

“Lookit you,” Bucky murmurs. 

“I hope you’ll do more than look.” 

When he stands from the armchair, he towers over her, but any intimidation she felt for him was left in the woods outside, was shed from her the moment he shed his shirt just to let a naive young woman sate her curiosity in his body. His hands ghost over her form, giving her phantom tingles. He turns his hand over and lets the back of his fingers brush against the dark curls between her legs. 

“Spread them,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Your legs, spread them.” 

Flushing, Toni does. Then he drags one knuckle up the seam of her cunt. It’s electrifying, brushing over her clit in a touch that has her gasping, parting her lips around his finger so that he can nestle it against her opening. God, it makes her realize just how hungry it feels. Seeing no reason to deny her instincts or what feels good, Toni lets her hips jerk forward, his knuckle just pressing past her entrance, a stretch that has her whining. 

Bucky pulls back, ignoring her noise of displeasure. Even in the moonlight, it glistens, wet with her cum. 

“That all for me?” he wonders. 

Toni snorts. “I don’t see anyone else here.” 

“Wouldn’t put it past you to have better eyesight than I do,” he teases, smiling. Then he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks her wetness from his finger. 

Toni is suddenly struck with the knowledge that she has never tasted herself. Reaching down, she uses one finger to mimic the path that Bucky had taken, shivering at the slick heat and the roughness of her curls. Then she brings it to her own mouth, brows furrowed. It is almost tasteless, probably from her thorough shower. There’s a hint of musk, but she kind of likes it. More than anything, she likes Bucky’s reaction to her, his eyes going wider than she’s ever seen, his mouth parting in surprise. 

“It’s not bad,” Toni says. Her eyes fall to his lap. “When do I get to taste you?” 

Bucky groans. “Jesus, can’t believe you’re just asking me questions like that—” 

“What, am I breaking sex-etiquette?” 

His lips ghost into a smile. “No. There isn’t really any etiquette, except for the kind we decide on together, I guess. I like your mouth—the things you  _ say _ , I mean, the, the way you say things without caring how they sound.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she says somberly. Toni knows the effect her mouth has on people—and to date it has mostly been negative. There was a disastrous date (one Toni had been far too embarrassed to admit was her first) between herself and one of Nat’s classmates. By the end of the night, every time Toni opened her mouth, she saw the exasperated roll of her date’s eyes and spent the rest of the date in complete silence. 

_ He didn’t deserve my mouth _ , Toni thinks.  _ But Bucky does.  _

As Bucky presses her back towards the couch, Toni twists and slips from his grasp. 

“Stop,” she says. When Bucky freezes, she feels the thrill of being obeyed. He is like marble as she reaches out and runs her fingers down the hollow of his sternum. His piercings catch the light that streams in through the window and she feels like a magpie with how drawn she is to the tiny barbells. “Tell me if I hurt you.” 

Bucky exhales shakily, the only response. When Toni drags her thumb across his nipple, nudging the metal bead at one end and then the other, his head tilts back to bare his honeycomb throat, mouth parting. It’s a strange sensation to feel the metal beneath his skin, and she knows that she must be being far more cautious than she needs to as she rolls either nipple between her fingers. But he doesn’t seem to mind. His chest heaves with the breaths he takes and she follows the rapid rise and fall, refusing to give him a moment of reprieve. 

When it feels more like she’s teasing herself than teasing him, then she drags her fingers down between his pecs, down over the bare skin of his abdominals and down to the waistband of his jeans. The zipper is distorted obscenely by his erection, and he hisses and groans as she works the button free, giving him inadvertent stimulation. 

He isn’t wearing boxers beneath—maybe he abandoned them after the woods, maybe he threw them away in Nat’s guest bathroom. His cock springs free and it is bigger up close, a very decent length, an intimidating thickness, cut and flushed dark. The head is sticky, and when she traces a thumb over it, Bucky gasps. In her grasp, his cock jerks: an adorable bob that has her fighting a smile.

Bringing her thumb to her mouth, she wastes no time in pressing it past her lips and sucking it clean. His taste isn’t much like hers; instead it is stronger, muskier and with a hint of salt. All at once, she needs him in her mouth. 

“Let me suck you off,” Toni asks. 

“Toni,” Bucky groans. His cock jerks again in her hand. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to. Do you want me to? You said you liked my mouth. Would you—like it on your cock?” 

If he thinks that the dirty talk rolls stilted from her mouth, he doesn’t show it. All he does is mutter expletives and nod jerkily. Bucky strips himself of his jeans and sits on the center couch cushion. 

Bare to her. Completely. 

With reverence, Toni kneels, running her palms across his thighs. The hairs there are fairer and more sparse. His legs are inked as well, pictures that she traces with her fingertips. Above her, he sits patient and still, only twitching when she presses her mouth to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. With a hand on either knee, she coaxes him to spread wider. Her eyes rake over him eagerly. It isn’t the first cock she’s ever seen (though it is the first in-person). If only the lights were on, she would be able to explore him better. In the dark, she can only really rely on one exploratory sense:  _ touch _ . 

The skin of his cock feels like hot silk when she runs her fingers down the length of him. It has ridges that are perfect for her tongue to trace, veins running paths from the flared head down to his sac. Bucky must prefer to keep himself well-groomed, because he is hairless here the same way he is on his chest. She presses his cock up towards his stomach, noting the way precum leaks from the tip at her firm touch. Her other hand cups his balls, tracing one and then the other, running her fingers gently over the soft, wrinkled skin. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” says Bucky brokenly.

Leaning forward, she presses her closed lips to the very base of his cock. Beside him on the couch, his hands tighten into fists, knuckles standing out white. Encouraged, Toni begins to press gentle kisses up the shaft, gradually letting her mouth open so that she can stroke her tongue along the silken skin. When she reaches the head, she takes it past her lips and lets it rest on her tongue. Her eyes fall shut so that she can concentrate on the smoothness of his skin, the sharp taste of his cum. When she suckles at the head of him, Bucky groans, the muscles of his thighs clenching and unclenching. 

“Dear god,” he rasps with a voice like sandpaper. “This won’t last long at all, sugar, I, oh fucking  _ hell _ , your mouth—” 

She startles at the feeling of his fingers touching her hair. When he sinks them deep into the damp tresses and takes hold firmly, something inside of her positively  _ burns _ . Opening her jaw so wide it aches, she takes more of him into her mouth. If he stretches her open here, what will it be like when he sinks his cock inside her sex? The thought makes her whine around him, spit running down the inches of his shaft she can’t swallow down. It makes the slide of her hand easier when she wraps her slim fingers around the base and begins to jerk off the excess. 

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” he breathes. “Because you’re a natural. Thirty seconds in and I want to shoot down your throat. Goddamn, Toni—” 

Toni is sure that her own slick must be dripping down her legs at this point. As curious as she is to explore his body and reactions, she has never been patient: she wants him inside her. Pulling off of his cock, she says, “I don’t want you to cum down my throat. I want you to cum inside me.” 

Bucky hisses. He has to reach down and grip the base of his cock to keep from cumming, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “I can’t do that. I don’t have any condoms.” 

“What good would it be for you to cum in me if you’re wearing a condom?” Toni snarks. “I want it dripping down my legs when I go up the stairs back to your room. I’ve had the implant since I was fifteen years old, neither of us need to worry about any souvenirs.”

“You don’t even know if I’m clean,” he says. He looks down at her with his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, high on his moral outrage. “That’s what I mean about smarts being more than just numbers. You should  _ never  _ fuck a guy bare unless you’ve seen that he’s clean.” 

“I know you’re clean,” she snaps. 

“How the hell do you know that? Read a book on STD’s?” 

“You let me put your cock in my mouth. You think  _ that  _ can’t spread disease? Yeah. You weren’t thinking about it then, were you? Because you know you’ve got nothing bad to give me. I know that you’re clean because if you weren’t, you would have stopped me.” 

Now he looks downright tortured, staring down at her with his face twisted in sadness and anger. “You don’t know that. There are people out there who don’t care if they hurt you as long as they can stick their dicks inside of you. You can’t go thinkin’ the best of everyone.”

“I’m not thinking the best of everyone,” Toni admits. “I’m thinking the best of  _ you _ . In science, theories are accepted as true until proven false. The only thing you’ve done since we’ve met is try to protect me. An infuriating though noble motive. You are a good man, and until you prove otherwise—I’m going to believe in you. In the good in you.” 

Bucky’s head tilts back to rest against the couch. His throat works as he takes several slow breaths. Much like when playing chess, Toni knows when to press and when to let pieces alone; she lets him turn over her words without any more fuel from her. Instead, she leans her cheek against his knee and waits, refusing to breathe lest she vibrates out of her skin with impatience. At last, he lets his head fall forward again and he nods with comical graveness. 

“Come here,” he says. “Up on my lap.” 

Her heart pounds, blood thrumming with anticipation. The size difference between them is only emphasized as she straddles his thighs. Elevated as she is, they can look at each other eye-to-eye. Toni is struck all over again by how handsome he is, the perfect symmetry from his face, the low brows that give him an intensity that threatens to take her breath away. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. When his hand reaches for her, thumb ghosting along the line of her jaw, it trembles.

“Yes,” she whispers. His fingers make contact, and he brings her forward.

It’s her first kiss. While there is an instinctive fluidity to it, the mechanics aren’t as simple as her erotica novels made it out to be. It helps to be hungry for him and to feel his thinly veiled hunger in return. His lips are soft and eager, and when they part to adjust the angles of their faces, his mouth returns to her parted, tongue lapping at the seam of her lips until she opens. A soft aching sound slips past her lips, and she’s glad that both of their eyes are shut so that he can’t see the embarrassed flush that burns her face. 

Wait, his eyes are shut, right?

She peaks. 

They are shut. She shuts hers quickly lest he catch her looking, but then he takes her entire bottom lip between his own and sucks at it softly and the thoughts leak from her ears. Bucky kisses with a dual nature; sometimes he is prone to long moments of softness as if he is sipping sweetly from her mouth. Other times, she can’t help but feel like he wants to split her open, drink deeply and sate his thirst of her. A quick learner, she mimics his actions. The noise he makes when she nips at his full bottom lip goes right between her legs. 

It is much like taking a poker to the softly smoldering coals of a fire. Toni burns. Thighs trembling from the effort it takes to hover over his lap, she lowers herself only find that his hard cock brushes against her curls. Bucky pulls away, hissing. 

“Sorry,” Toni murmurs. 

“Feels good,” he pants. He looks debauched, mouth red and swollen.  _ From me, _ she thinks. “Remember what I told you in the woods? About you rubbing yourself off on me? Feels good for the both of us, honey.” 

“Put it inside me.”

He laughs too loud. Toni glances up towards the stairs, still dark and empty. 

“Fingers first,” says Bucky. “Put your arms around my neck and let me know if anything hurts.” 

Toni buries her face in his neck. With one large hand, he cups the entirety of her naked sex. Just the warmth of his hand has her mouth parting, when he lets two middlemost fingers press forward to touch her opening, she groans. 

“You play with yourself here?” he asks her. His fingers make no move to enter her, just rub and circle around her entrance. Toni is beyond words, chest tight with anticipation, so all she can do is nod in confirmation. Bucky groans, cock jerking where it is pressed flush between their naked bellies. 

For a long time, all he does is trace the line of her: fingers gathering the slick at her entrance and dragging it up to her swollen clit. Most passes, he avoids touching that knot of throbbing nerves, but sometimes he takes it between his two fingers and applies the slightest pressure until she is gasping and her hips are trembling in his grasp. 

“Relax,” he says. 

She bites his neck.

“Jesus,” he groans, flinching away from her teeth. “I should spank the hell out of you for that.” 

Toni arches her back until the hand steadying her hip slips back and takes a firm hold of her ass. He must feel as if she is panting in his ear, her breaths are coming so fast. Usually, Toni skimmed over spanking scenes in erotica or watched with ambivalence, eager to get to the good parts. Why the thought of Bucky doing that—of disciplining her—turns her on so much, she won’t even begin to guess. Her degree is in engineering and not psychology; leave the soft sciences to the soft scientists. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she mocks. 

“No,” he says. His fingers press with more firmness at her entrance, stretching her just barely. “I don’t need to scare you to get you to behave.” 

With slow and steady movements, he lets one finger slip inside her. Toni sighs happily. In a rare moment of penance, she kisses the bruise left on his throat in the shape of her mouth. 

“God you feel good,” Bucky says. “That hurtin’ you?” 

Toni rolls her eyes. “No. I usually use two fingers, anyway.” 

“I’d die to see that,” he sighs. “Is that what you were doing up there in your room for so long? Working two fingers in an’ out of this pretty pussy?” 

“No. I wanted to wait—for you.” 

It’s Bucky’s turn to lean in to her, his lips pressing against her throat. His voice is wrecked when he says, “There isn’t a single part of you, not a single thing you say or do that doesn’t drive me insane.” 

Without another word, he withdraws from her and then two fingertips are nudging at her entrance. The stretch makes her suck in a breath even though there is plenty of wetness to ease his way. 

“Okay?” he asks. His breathing has picked up, either mimicking her unconsciously or noticing the tension in her form. “You feel—real tight.”

“Your fingers are bigger than mine,” she theorizes. “It doesn’t hurt though. Keep going.”

Bucky presses in to his last knuckle. He uses his thumb to rub at her clit and when she clenches around his fingers, they both groan. Impatient, Toni draws her hips back to feel the slide as his fingers come free, dragging against the sensitive rim of her entrance. 

“Go ahead,” he pants. “If it feels good, go ahead honey.”

She keeps her thrusts slow. Her hips are unused to the movement, and when he spreads his fingers to open her wide, it  _ almost _ hurts. 

“How the hell am I going to get inside you,” Bucky mutters. 

Toni hopes that’s rhetorical. 

More and more, he opens her up. She never stops the rolling of her hips, but sometimes he pins her to him so that he can focus on her clit, strumming his thumb back and forth over it until she feels liable to cum and more slick drips out of her. Then he stretches his fingers again. It goes on forever, the slick sounds growing more and more obscene until there is no more ache. When he slips a third finger inside, it doesn’t hurt at all, just burns in a deeply satisfying way. 

“I want you on top, just like this,” he says. “That way you’re in control and if somethin’ hurts, you can stop right away. Got it?” 

“Got it, it’s gotten,” Toni answers. Her thighs tremble, cunt pulsing emptily when he pulls his fingers free and goes to lick them clean. Toni stops him with a hand around his wrist. His eyes stare at the way her fingers can’t touch for the thickness of him. Without thought, she says, “That’s mine.” 

He blinks. “I—know?”

“So it’s mine,” she says, tugging his hand towards her mouth. When he realizes that she means to lick her slick off of his fingers, his eyes fall shut, cock jerking between them. 

His throats clicks when he swallows. “But, you’re a good girl, right? You’re gonna share, aren’t you?” 

“If you ask nicely,” she whispers, buzzing on the high of his submission. 

His eyes are so heated, they pin her in place. Never has she been so thankful for her eidetic memory. He’s the most beautiful person she’s ever seen, and the sight of him with his swollen mouth and inked skin and burning eyes is one that she commits to memory again and again. Unwilling to part from it. 

“Please,” begs Bucky. 

“Do better.” 

“Please share. Two tastes tonight aren’t enough. I’d gladly spend the rest of my life with my mouth to your pussy, that’s how bad I want it. Even just one finger, honey, let me have one.” 

She is positively shaking when she brings his wrist towards her—and takes all three fingers into her mouth. Bucky makes a sound like he’s been punched, but he bites down on any protests, gritting his teeth. He presses down on her tongue, the barest bite of his nails until she shuts her teeth around his fingers in warning. When any semblance of her essence is gone, she lets go of his wrist. 

“You’re cruel,” he rasps. 

“That’s what you get for thinking I’m a good girl.” 

“I take it back.” 

Toni shifts up, her hand reaching between them for his cock. It is slick with precum that has smeared against his abs. As soon as the flared head rests against her entrance, she realizes the discrepancy between three fingers and his cock. 

“Just take it slow,” he says, breaths unsteady. “For both our sakes.” 

She lowers herself just an inch. The stretch as the head slips past her entrance burns in the best way. Once she doesn’t need to guide him anymore, she lets her thin arms wrap around his shoulders, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in his hair in a grip that must be painful even if he doesn’t mention it. Another inch disappears inside her, and it pinches in a way that has her wincing. Instead of pressing forward, she raises her hips up until he nearly slips free from her before taking him back in. 

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers as she fucks herself on the tip alone. 

“Don’t rush me,” she laughs. 

“I’m not, I swear,” he says. “Just trying not to blow my load, you’re so tight—fuck, I felt that. You squeeze my dick like that again and I’m finished, honey, holy shit.” 

“I can’t help it,” Toni gasps. It feels so good to use those muscles, feels so good to clench against him as he’s filling her up. The next inch comes easier, and the next after that. She lets herself lower those last few inches until he’s completely inside of her. It doesn’t make sense: how it feels so foreign but how it feels so right. He’s touching places inside of her that her fingers never could, that even his fingers never could, filling her in a way she’s never been full. It’s overwhelming all at once. Whining into his throat, she says, “God, it feels like you’re in my throat.” 

Inside of her, his cock twitches and makes her squeak—an altogether indignant sound that she will take to the grave. 

“Just sit there for a minute,” Bucky pants. “Please Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, don’t fucking move.” 

“Don’t tell me that; now I want to move even more.” 

He tightens his grip on her hips, unrelenting. Now, even when she shifts against him, she can’t move an inch. The knowledge stokes the heat inside her higher, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. She feels his lips press to her shoulder, a soft and sweet touch that maybe she wasn’t even meant to notice. A smile blooms where no one can see it, and she forces herself to relax and wait for him. 

After an endless minute, he finally releases his bruising hold of her hips. “Okay,” he says. 

“Okay? I can move?” 

He nods. “Do whatever feels best.” 

In for a penny, in for a pound. Toni lifts herself up, lamenting the loss of him just so that she can bring her hips down hard in a thrust that shakes her to her core. If she had any breath in her lungs, she might have shouted; even Bucky seems shattered, groaning expletives that are far too loud. At the apex of his thrust, he touches a spot inside her that feels so sensitive it nearly hurts. She wants to feel that hurt again and again and again. The pace she sets nearly breaks the both of them. She has never been able to cum from internal stimulation alone, but when he hits that spot deep inside, she feels like maybe she could. 

When her legs begin to shake from overexertion, he shifts them until he lies flat on the couch, coaxing her to lean forward and let some of her weight be borne by her palms on the armrest his head lays on. It changes the angle, and she leans forward and then backward to experience every sensation.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathes. “Taking my cock so well. Just chasing what feels good, aren’t you honey? Tell me how it feels.” 

“Good,” Toni whines, digging her fingers into the fabric of the armrest. He thrusts his hips up like a reward and she cries out. When she leans forward, she finds that she can grind her clit against the base of his cock. 

“Do better,” he says, mocking her earlier words. Another sharp thrust upwards, that sharp, bright ache— _ my cervix _ , she thinks with a thrill.  _ That’s what that is. He’s just long enough to touch it.  _

“If cumming means that you won’t be able to keep fucking me like this, then you’re never allowed to cum,” she says. “Ever.” 

Bucky laughs so hard he wheezes. “Yeah?” he says when he catches his breath. “You want to put a ring on me, use my cock like it’s a toy for your convenience? How many times could you cum on my dick before I blow my load even with the ring on, huh? Nothing could keep me from cummin’ inside you. A pussy this sweet? Let’s be glad I’ve lasted this long.” 

Toni clenches her muscles tight until he hisses. 

“Let’s start counting,” she says. “Make me cum, Bucky, please.” 

He groans. One of his hands goes to her breast, taking her pebbled nipple between his fingers while the other drifts down to where they’re connected. For a moment, he ignores her aching clit and instead lets his fingers trace where she’s stretched around his cock. He mutters something foul, filthy, hot and then he presses the pad of his thumb against her clit, rubbing briskly, working to follow her thrusts even as they stutter and grow erratic. 

“Oh God,” Toni breathes, toes curling. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

When she cums, it’s explosive—never has she cum while so full, while being filled. Hypersensitive to his cock, it feels huge where he thrusts in and out of her, cunt gripping him tight. Every thrust drags her orgasm on and on, his thumb never growing lenient where it toys with her clit until she feels like she could cum again, which has never happened, never—

The second is slower and deeper, her entire body seizing up above him. Both of her legs cramp, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters. Nothing except for his thumb on her clit and that burst of pleasure so deep inside her so keen that it almost hurts. 

When her brain finally begins to function again, her lashes are wet, her throat is raw, and Bucky has a hold of her hips, gently humping upwards into the cradle of her hips. The wet sounds of their sex almost make her flush, but then she realizes that he is whispering to her frantically: 

“—please, I’ve got to cum, can’t hold off anymore. Did you mean it, that you want, you want it inside?” 

“God, yes,” Toni says, voice wrecked. “Inside me, please. Do it inside me—” 

He grows still beneath her, the music staff across his chest expanded from the force of his inhalation. His eyes are squeezed shut, the expression on his face looking almost pained. Then she feels it: his cock twitching where it’s buried deep inside of her, a flush of warmth and wetness. He groans, teeth clenched tight. 

“I can  _ feel  _ that,” she says in wonder. 

And when his eyes open, misty and dazed and looking for her own so that he can smile up at her, all she can think is,  _ I want to feel that again.  _

-

Nat creeps back up from where she had crouched on the stairs low enough to catch a glimpse of the living room below. A noise down the hallway draws her attention, but it is just Wanda, her head poking out questioningly from one of the guest rooms. Wanda points a finger towards the stairs and then takes that same finger and thrusts it into a hole loosely formed by her other fist. 

Nat makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger. 

_ Yes _ ! Wanda mouths, pumping her fist. She holds up her hand and Natasha gives her a phantom high-five before disappearing back into her bedroom, taking extra care to close the door without a single sound. Steve is sound asleep where she left him, but when she crawls back into bed, he reaches for her even in sleep to wrap an arm around her. 

All in a day’s work. 

-

Hours after the sun has ridden, Natasha is the first awake. The living room is empty with no sign of any late-night scandalous activities. She hadn’t checked Toni’s guestroom, but she would guarantee that it was empty. It puts her in a good mood, and she hums while he starts an extra-large pot of coffee. In the quiet early morning, Natasha is struck by a rare moment of complete contentment. So many of the people she loves under one room, safe, happy, sated. 

_ If only life could be like this all the time _ , she thinks.

One by one the others begin to wake and come down. Bucky arrives first. Natasha passes him a mug of coffee without a word, ignoring the sight of the vivid bruise against his neck. They must have staggered their arrivals to avoid suspicion, because Toni arrives only a few minutes later, hair wet from a shower. 

“Are you hungover?” Natasha asks, letting her face crumple into a concerned expression. “God, T, you look like you didn’t sleep a wink. Was it the bed? Those guest rooms—” 

“The bed was fine,” Toni says primly. Her face barely twists when she sits on the stool at the kitchen island. 

“Gimme that,” Bucky mutters, taking the mug meant for Toni from her hands. Looking her dead in the eye, he says lowly enough so that only she can hear: “You aren’t slick, Nat.” 

“Toni sure was,” she says, barely moving her lips. 

Bucky snorts, turning away to take Toni the coffee. Natasha turns her back to them, making herself busy with breakfast on the stove so that no one can see her smile while she listens to them bicker over the best way to take their coffee. Steve is suddenly there, pressed flush against her back so that he can place a kiss at the crown of her head. 

“Everything okay?” he asks under his breath. 

And it’s not a lie when she looks up at him and says: “ _ Perfect _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for that gratuitously long sex scene. hope you enjoyed! come talk on tumblr @ cagestark

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on Tumblr @cagestark


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